Lessons Relearned
by Prince-Mallory
Summary: Rated M for later chapters. Jack, an agoraphobic girl with an obsession for making confectionary, has no where else to go and asks to stay with her aunt in london. Much romantic comedy ensues as she is forced to work for her idol. Warning:genderbending
1. Chapter 1

_Hello there! This is my first fanfiction of any sort; I've been wanting to write some for a while but it takes courage, you know? My credentials: advanced English in middle school, honors English freshman year, AP English the rest of the way. I've been writing since elementary school, so hopefully you won't have too many problems with grammar and spelling, that sort of thing._

_This story is based on the 2005 Tim Burton movie of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The problem with writing this sort of fanfiction is there is no way to NOT have a Mary-sue, since there were no eligible females in the movie (at least, not without REALLY stretching things). While I realize there's always the option of going the Willy/Charlie route, I don't think my writing skills are quite advanced enough to tackle that particular pairing. So, my sincerest apologies for creating another Mary Sue in fandom. However, I've been reading the other fandom for this movie, and it seems that Mary Sues are somewhat well received, and that makes my job a little less daunting._

_I must warn, though. This particular character is a bit unusual in that for most of the fic I will be referring to her as "he", for reasons shortly made clear. If gender-bending stuff isn't your picnic, move along! If it is, please take the time to leave constructive criticism, I could sure use it._

_Willy Wonka, Charlie and the Buckets, the oompa loompas, and the factory are all copyright Roald Dahl (and later on to Tim Burton), they are not mine, though if they were I'd now be rolling in more money than I'll ever make in my entire life._

_Jackie "Jack", and Aunt Josephine, however, belong to me._

_Hugs and Starshine!_

Jackie fell in a heap on the hard wood floor, sighing and trying not to sob with disappointment. Her face was black with soot, and she tried wiping it away with a hankercheife. For months now she had been trying to make her own hypothetical variation of a Swiss candy–which required precise timing and high temperatures to recreate—and every one of her experiments had blown up in her face. If she were the type of person to be discouraged after only one month of trial and error, she would have given up long ago and moved on to safer, easier hobbies like rugby and polo. But this was no mere hobby, and Jackie could not afford feelings of discouragement, even if her life's work—creating candy—had resulted in nothing but failure after failure.

Jackie–known as "Jack" to her teachers—attended university in Brighton, and intended to major in specialty cuisine (narrowing it down to confectionary after graduation)---that is if she even graduated. Which at this rate, the chances were looking pretty slim. She showed great promise with conceptual design–-she had a wealth of ideas to chose from, but turning them into a reality was often difficult, and it was rare that she ever got the end result that she'd started out for. And for a perfectionist like Jackie, this was the single most frustrating thing that could take place.

Standing up and brushing herself off, Jackie took off the giant goggles she wore for cooking purposes, and went into the bathroom of her tiny flat to wash her face. To be fair to Jackie, and to spare readers from fixating on a misconception of her physical appearance, one could in all seriousness point out that her gender was almost irrelevant. In fact, one could very much say that if one saw her on the street, one would in all probability assign the label of "twenty-something eccentric MALE university student." Indeed, 'Jack's' appearance and choice of wardrobe were no accident; 'he' had adopted the mannerisms and social status of the opposite gender since the age of puberty. If a reader asked him whether or not he revealed his true gender to his friends, he would in all likelihood reply that since he did not keep friends, he could not see how the answer made all that much difference.

Jack washed the soot from his face. His hair was long for a boy's, reaching past his shoulders, and parted to the side. He rarely combed it these days, and it had begun to look like a pale blonde mane, wild and unkempt, though he did usually sweep the tangled mass back from his ears, unless he was working, in which case it fell about his face and obscured an eye. Beneath the unruly edward-scissorhands-do was pale skin, dark noble eyebrows, blue eyes, and a pale mouth that was unaccustomed to speaking. Jack did not, however, like to bear skin, so his neck was usually wrapped in cloth, and his collars were always turned up, adding to his disheveled appearance. Jackie wore pretty much the same formula every day: billowy white or black button down shirt, black vest with silver buttons, gun-metal black belt, mens slacks, and heeled leather shoes. On the rare occasion that Jack left the school grounds or his flat, he adorned a militant black blazer or coat. And the gloves never came off, save for at night. Jack did not touch, or like to be touched by, other things. After a certain age of course, Jack had to bind his chest, and now it had become a daily routine.

No one, save his family, knew about this strange habit of transvestism. This caused a few embarrassing situations for him at school, what with a few girls trying their luck with him. Though Jack dressed like a boy; he had no interest in girls. Or, as far as he could recall, in boys either.

The only interest Jack ever possessed was in sweets. Others might think this a very boring fixation, but not for Jack. Jack actually ate very little in the way of sweet things, despite his adoration for them. He always harbored a secret fear of growing sick of chocolate, and then where would he be? His life's work, all for nothing. Not that much could be said about it now...

Jack threw the now blackened cloth into the trash, and walked back to his room. There was one other thing that Jack was obsessed with, and if he wasn't trying to make sweets, he was preoccupied with worshiping the God of Confectionary:

Willy Wonka.

Jack kept a diary, but more than private thoughts, he kept inside every single article and advertisement related in any way to Mr. Wonka. In the margins he wrote his impressions, thoughts and ideas that reflected his adoration for this man and what he'd accomplished. Not to be mistaken for romantic love, Jack had grown up with the tales of the enigmatic candy man who, once reaching a certain age, seemed to stop aging altogether. He looked not a day older than the first picture of him in the newspaper, and that was thirty years ago. It was his chocolate that had inspired Jack from a very early age to make his own candy; the pastime soon became a full blown obsession.

And although he would never admit to it, Jack's biggest fantasy, when collapsing into bed after hours of failed experimentation, was to become Mr. Wonka's apprentice, to go live with him in that secretive factory and share his ideas with him, to create new varieties of candy together. In a way, his fantasy was safe. If anyone ever found out about this obsessive fantasy, at least it could never be said that Jack loved Mr. Wonka for his good looks. Being (quite obviously) a member of the male gender, the only love he could ever be accused of would be the weird, creative genius magnetism that Mr. Wonka was full of.

"I think...that's enough experimentation today." said Jack, glancing at his watch. 2:30 a.m., and on a school night. How was he going to stay awake in class tomorrow? Wandering in circles in his room, slowly undressing, Jack tried to calm his mind down. As usual, all he could think about was what had gone wrong this time in his experiment. He bit his lip, trying not to let the sense of utter failure overwhelm him. The best he could do now was hope that soon something would click, he would learn from his mistakes, and start making chocolate and sweets that people would actually eat. He knew it wasn't a flaw in his method; his note-taking procedures had been perfected over the years, nothing escaped his attention, but somehow the end results always seemed to elude him.

Finally Jack unbound his chest, peeled his gloves off, and slipped into the silk Pjs he wore at night. As he drifted off to sleep, the effects of his daily fixation replayed themselves in his head: _blueberry, raspberry, peach, lemon, cherry, wintergreen, evergreen, lime, licorice, ice-cream. _They swirled together, and even then he hypothesized which flavors would go best with what form of candy. Eventually sleep came to him, and Jack dreamed of sitting at a drafting table with Mr. Wonka. Together they worked out the perfect recipes, and everything they did would make sense, and Jack would be able to understand exactly why and how everything worked. Mr. Wonka would be intelligent, engaging, and would explain everything to him, taking time to make sure he understood the mechanics behind everything.

Together...what things they could accomplish...

Jack opened his eyes, he had been coughing. Something was not right. He smelled something awful, it was making his head swim. What on earth was that? The air was thick, and it burned his lungs. He realized it was extremely hot in his room; his sheets were soaked with sweat. He was facing the wall in his bed, what was going on in the rest of the room? Jack rolled over, and immediately his eyes widened and he tried not to scream. His room was on fire. The wall paper was peeling and melting off the walls, the ceiling turning black as flames licked over it. The carpet was nothing more than a blackened scrap, while the couch and table was a veritable inferno of rollicking flames, crackling and roaring in their intensity.

Jack had heard somewhere that if you stood up in a fire, you would most surely die of the heat; the only thing to do was to keep as close to the ground as possible. How long had this been going on? It was a miracle that the fire was more interested in devouring the side of the room opposite from the bed...but it also meant that he would have to somehow escape through that fire; as it was blocking the only way out of his room.

Acting quickly, Jack reached under his bed, pulling out his diary, putting on his slippers, and finding his briefcase he ran at a low crouch through the fire, only to find himself in hell. People were screaming downstairs. Flames covered everything. He could hear glass breaking. All thought of why and how fled. Taking a deep, smoke-infested breath, Jack ran down the stairs as fast as he could, only thinking to escape this raging inferno. Feeling faint with the heat and lack of oxygen, he briefly wondered if he would die here—but the thought of dying before having accomplished a single thing he set out to do drove him on, and before long he burst through the door to the freezing November air.

For a long time Jack simply knelt in the snow, breathing in the sweet fresh air, savoring the feeling of being alive. Gaining strength, he stood up only to face the entire student population that lived in the flat. Most were too busy watching the building going up in flames to notice him, but a few were staring. Jack lowered his head and tried not to betray his embarrassment. Folding his arms tightly over his chest, Jack shuffled to the back of the crowd and stood in the snow, looking up at his apartment being destroyed from the inside out. Suddenly guilt shot through him. Had he been the cause of the fire?

After only a week of living in a nearby hotel (all expenses paid for by the University), Jack was called to the headmaster's office. Indeed, the fire had originated from his room, probably a Bunsen burner left turned on in the night, and though no one was seriously hurt, he would have to be expelled for property damages, and for serious misconduct, however accidental.

Jack was handed a package of the few items they could retrieve from his room; a few clothes from his wardrobe, which was mostly spared, some coins, and (miraculously!) his goggles. Throughout the entire explanation, Jack was motionless, his face blank, even when they told his that the fire was his fault. Then they gave him the package, all that was left of his life at the university. A shadow passed over Jack's face, his shoulders sagged. All of his equipment was gone; years of investing every cent into a small cuisine oriented lab, all was lost.

"You have relatives to go to, don't you?" the headmaster asked.

"...oh yes. I'll manage." Jack said softly. His eyelids drooped. "I am deeply sorry about the destruction my careless mistake made. I hope the University will decide not to press charges against me; should they, however, you will find me most cooperative."

With that, Jack left.

Jack gazed out of the cab into the rainy winter scene. He wore a black turtleneck, slacks and boots, and from his briefcase he had procured his headphones and was listening to The Cure, embracing for a time the depression and dread that had sank into him over the past few days. After he'd left the headmaster's office, he'd heard some giggles directed at him. Jack sighed. Had it been that obvious that he was a girl under those pyjamas? No doubt word had spread like wildfire; now not only was Jack famous for his talent at failure, but also for his gender-perversion.

_Fools. They judge so easily; they would not be so quick to point fingers if they were in my situation. What do they know about the pains of feeling out of place in one's body? _Jack tried to comfort himself, but the words "pervert" and "failure" repeated themselves over and over in his head, and he could not shake them.

He had gone back to his flat and, without notifying any of his teachers (they would soon know what happened), began packing his few possessions. The closest relative he had was his aunt; his parents had died years ago. He had lived with her through highschool, and was glad to say goodbye to her, choosing to live full time on campus at University.

Jack closed his eyes, leaning against the cool glass of the window, picturing his life with Aunt Josephine. She lived in a squat brick house that was always too cold in the winter, and spent the day reading women's magazines. She was a woman about average height, in her fifties by now, with dirty blonde hair, a wide jaw, slightly crooked teeth, full lips, a delicate nose and large eyes. She had a husband, but they rarely saw him; he was usually taking business trips far away from home. Josephine didn't seem to mind though; she was much too unmotivated to work a demanding, high paying job, and was thankful for the money he brought to the house. She smoked constantly, the result of which gave Jack a horrible cough throughout highschool and University.

Jack's aunt spent much of her time at home watching old movies from the thirties, and memorizing the moves their starlets made. And while this had given Josephine the impression that women wearing men's suits (when tailored by Coco Channel, that is) were generally simply competing in a man's world with a more even playing field, the thought of a girl wearing men's clothes _all_ the time without any sort of interest romantically in men (or in women for that matter; as Josephine would say, 'they had them in my time too you know') was, well...

"Jackie darling!" Jack shuddered and coughed reflexively, unloading his suitcase and tipping the cab driver. A wave of smoke and old perfume invaded his nostrils, and Jack felt his lungs seize up, and his face contorted rather comically to keep from coughing loudly in Aunt Josephine's ear as she hugged her niece. Jack was stiff as a board; though his gloves protected his hands from being touched, Josephine's face was flush with his, her oily and nicotine-streaked skin invading his personal space. However, when Josephine pulled back, her face visibly fell.

"Did all your dresses burn in the fire?"

"Aunt Josephine, you know perfectly well that I don't own any dresses." Jack replied, his voice alto and soft. He hated visiting family; it was always this way. They tried to act like they supported you, but you could always tell they were secretly hoping it was just a phase.

"...no, I suppose not." She said as they walked back to the house. "So, got yourself expelled from University, eh? What are your plans?"

"Well...I was thinking about continuing my studies in confectionary; if I could use your stove between meals, I could..."

Josephine closed the door behind them. "Now Jackie-girl, lets just drop this chocolate business. There are more important things in life that sweets, and besides you were never very good at that anyways..." Jack tried not to show his hurt, flexing his gloved hands at his sides. "You'd just be wasting your time, and time is not what you have. You're almost twenty! You need to start looking for a husband!"

"..." Jack stopped in his tracks on the stairs to his room. His eyes were wide. "H-hus-husband?"

"Why yes! You obviously can't support yourself out there, you need someone to support you financially. Why, that's what I did, and just look at me! Living easy, life's a picnic!" Josephine kept walking.

"Or, if you really can't stand the thought of marrying a man, I suppose you could try your luck on some of the girls in town; there are some wealthy ones who'd probably mistake you for a romantic poet or some other nonsense and fall for you. Just make sure they don't look under your clothes until you're safely married away...that would cause quite a scandal!" Josephine giggled.

"W...wife?"

"Not that I think that sort of thing is proper, mind. The very thought of a woman playing husband to another woman is just...well...here's your room!"

For the next few days, Jack did not leave his room. He felt unclean; the very thought of...of marriage made him ill. He was too young, besides! Another man...that was just...ew. Jack could not possibly see it working. And a girl...oh please! Besides, marriage meant...sex.

"Bleeeargh!" Jack heaved into a flower pot.

Sex. It was an activity that Jack never, if he could possibly help it, thought about. Sex was a double edged knife that perverted friendships and twisted simple love. What's more, sex meant physical contact. Skin on skin. Absolutely no respect for personal space; invading it in every way. Jack had developed a nasty habit of vomiting whenever he felt nervous or overwhelmed; it was hard to control, and so many things made Jack nervous, most of all people touching him. It wouldn't do at all to vomit on one's lover. It would mean possibly opening one's heart to another person, and Jack had decided from the very start of highschool he wouldn't be doing any of that.

That wasn't stopping Aunt Josephine however. When Jack came down for breakfast finally, Josephine was looking at Jack in a very calculating way.

"Aunt Josephine?" Jack coughed.

"I've invited a friend over for lunch. He'll be here in a few hours, you should get cleaned up."

"But I just took a shower. I'll be dressed as soon as I finish my breakfast."

"You're hair is a mess. I swear you never brush it. Let me just..."

"Aunt Josephine, no."

"Just a little bit, I promise I'll be gentle. At least get all the knots undone."

Jack bolted to his feet, nearly tipping his chair over.

"I know what you're trying to do, and I promise you, it won't work." With that Jack ran up the stairs to his room. Josephine sighed.

The next few weeks were a horror for Jack. Visitor after visitor came by, trying to court what Josephine had described as "a shy girl looking for love in her life." At first Jack refused to wear the girly clothes that Josephine lay out for him, but when one rich lech cornered Jack and tried to coax him to take his binding off, he decided that wearing dresses was alright, and he would simply have to scare them away with his disagreeable personality. Soon though, Josephine's list of rich male friends was running out, and she was growing more and more impatient with Jack, and often the night dissolved into shouting contests between them. Finally she started inviting girls over, telling them she had a "lonely shy nephew who was too bashful to seek out companionship without his aunt's help." This usually lured the girls in, thinking they would meet some tragic poet, but usually Jack simply sat the girls down and talked to them for hours on end about chocolate and sweet-making. They could only feign interest for so long; but Jack was totally sincere. He figured if he found one girl who was just as enthusiastic about chocolate as he was, he would somehow tolerate marriage. Of course, some girls he met were horribly direct:

"So, how big is it?" Jack spit out his tea into his cup and gaped at the woman.

Or they were completely unprepared to deal with his poor conversation skills:

"Do you have any favorite styles of music?"

"Yes."

_Silence for another twenty minutes, the poor girl looking expectantly at Jack, while he sipped at his tea. Eventually he grows bored, looking at the girl critically, _"You're not very good at this, are you?"

"I've had enough of this!" Josephine screamed as she stormed up the stairs. "You're lazy! You do nothing to help out! You just sit on your ass all day and scare the guests I've worked so hard to get here!"

"Well maybe I'd be a little more willing to help out if you didn't insist on treating me like some blushing bride to be sold on the market! Ever think that I don't want to get married?" Jack screamed back from the doorway, leaning on the banister.

"Oh please! Everyone knows it's a girl's dream to walk down the aisle! Why do you have to be so stubborn and just accept the fact that you're a woman and that society has some expectations of you!"

"Why does gender have to matter so much to you people! It makes me sick! I wanted to live here and someday be able to open my own confectionary business, but all you can see is some pervert who refuses to submit himself to the demands of a spouse!"

"You are a pervert! And there is no way you are ever making it in the confectionary business, you're just in denial. In the mean time, I waste my resources on you, and you refuse to help yourself by accepting help from someone who would like to in exchange for your hand in marriage!"

The argument went on much like this for the rest of the night. Jack's eyes were watery with tears at his aunt's cutting criticism. His coughing fits were getting worse and worse as the night progressed. Finally, Aunt Josephine burst through the door of his room and said,

"You have one week to leave this place. I don't want to hear from you again after this."

Jack thought hard. Who else could he go to? He thought Aunt Josephine was his only living relative. Finally it dawned on him. Aunt Josephine had had another sister, besides his mother. Jack enquired as to her whereabouts, and Josephine only said, "Bucket. London."

A/n: Hope that wasn't too hard to get through. Sorry that Mr. Wonka was mentioned only briefly in this chapter, but I had to focus on character development and exposition first. I promise lots and LOTS more of him in the coming chapters, mmkay?


	2. Chapter 2

Hope some people stuck around for chapter 2! How am I doing so far? Is this absolutely horrible, or do I have a shot at this? Please review, it's what keeps things going!

At the heart of the chocolate factory naturally lay the chocolate room, described by some to be the most beautiful place on earth. Rolling hills of candy grass met the chocolate river, which churned endlessly under the chocolate waterfall. Bright fruits and flowers grew there, every one of them edible, and harvesting these bounties were the little men called "Oompa Loompas." One such little man was not working in the fields, but instead walked towards a squat little hovel in one corner of the room, the newest edition. In his hand he held an envelope, addressed to the Bucket family. It had a red stamp on it, as the post office had forwarded it to the factory since every one knew of the Bucket's new living arrangements.

"Thank you Wilbert." Mrs. Bucket said, taking the letter from the oompa loompa. It was very strange that they were getting personal mail; most of their mail was because of Mr. Bucket's work. She sat down to open it. Reading it to herself, she sat at the table a while, thinking. Then she called Charlie over.

Jack saw the letter slip under his door and pounced on it. Not bothering to look at the front of the envelope, he ripped it open and unfolded the letter. Giving a quick prayer to no one in particular, Jack read aloud:

"_Dearest Jackie,_

_my goodness, we haven't heard from you since your parents threw that family reunion! You were only eleven then. We're very sorry to hear about the fire, and about Aunt Josephine kicking you out. I for one never liked her much, she's alright for a sister, but as an aunt? Poor girl!_

_We've recently moved, and it has been decided that you will be allowed to stay with us. Please pack all your belongings as soon as possible, and go to the address on the envelope. There, please stand in front of the gate and wait for the envoy to escort you inside. We trust you will be nothing but courteous to our landlord; it is because of him that we are able to take you in._

_Charlie is very excited to have you; he's always wanted a sister, but I suppose a cousin will do._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Mrs. Bucket"_

Jack had taken a taxi to London, where he was dropped off near the street on the outside of the envelope. He could hardly contain his excitement. He was going to live near the holy grail of Chocolatiering! Already he could see the giant smokestacks in the distance. He was dreading the ordeal of having to explain his weird habits to the Bucket family, but if he had to wear a dress every day in order to live near the factory, so be it! That was all that mattered, even more than living with the Buckets. If they kicked him out, he'd just camp outside the factory.

"Now...the gates...all these houses have gates...it's this street then, turn here...and the gate---" Jack looked up from his envelope, and his brain ground to a halt. "...oh my stars."

There was only one "house" on this entire street. The gates were huge, wrought iron. And on the other side...on the other side...

"No. No no no nononono...this...no..." Jack mumbled to himself, backing away. He felt something tug on his pant leg, and he looked down.

"EEE!" Jack squealed, his eyes bulging even more. There stood a very little man, dressed head to toe in winter gear; he looked like he was going on an arctic expedition. Trying desperately to regain composure, Jack asked in a very shaky voice,

"Are you the...the...envoy?" The little man nodded, holding out his hand. Jack swallowed, hunching over and taking it. They approached the gates, and as they did they swung open. Jack was trembling, his jaws slack, his eyes darting about. This could not be real. He was dreaming. _People don't just casually forget to mention this sort of thing in their letters!_

They reached a door on the outside of the factory, and Jack was beginning to feel faint. The factory was huge, threatening to envelop him as it obscured all else from view. The oompa loompa opened a door in the wall, and in they went. Inside it was hot, but Jack didn't really notice. The oompa loompa doffed his coat and mittens and led Jack down a long hall with lush red carpeting. At the end was a very small door, that opened a much larger door, one that Jack could fit through.

Through it, Jack stepped. He stopped short. Before him sprawled the most amazing thing he'd ever seen; it was like a forest, only it had been engineered by the likes of Dr. Seuss. The grass sparkled under his feet, crooked trees blossomed with flowers and fruits of mysterious nature, the ground was covered with strange plants and fungi, even the air smelled sweet and...chocolate-y? Jack examined a flower. It wasn't real! It was covered in sugar! Jack's mind was reeling. _All of these things are edible! They have to be! Nothing like this grows in the real world! How on earth was this accomplished?_

The oompa loompa led him on, almost impatiently. Jack stared all about him, he was muttering low under his breath, and by this time he had a pronounced facial tick. It was because of this that he almost slammed right into–

"Woah there!"

Jack stepped back like he'd been burned. He stood stiffly, leaned forwards just a little bit, and his eye twitched.

"Greetings, my name is Willy Wonka! Good morning starshine, the earth says hello!"

Several expressions passed over Jack's face, he ground his teeth. Somewhere inside his mind he could feel something snapping; perhaps a blood vessel. He was feeling a bit ill.

Yes, he was definitely having an aneurism, because his face was undergoing a seizure, all he could manage was to clench his teeth together in a bizarre nervous grin and make a noise like a rusty gate being opened:

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

The genius before him faltered a bit, seemingly unsure how to respond, and so took out a pair of flash cards, reading:

"I hope you thoroughly enjoy your stay here! I shake you warmly by the hand–" Mr. Wonka extended his purple gloved hand.

"Huaaaagh!" Immediately, like a firehose suddenly turned on, Jack projectile vomited in an impressive arc, narrowly missing the burgundy-clad inventor, who coiled back in fear, and instead sprayed the candy grass. Having finished that, Jack tumbled forwards, unconscious at the feet of Mr. Wonka.

"Hello to you too, Mr. Daisy." The inventor said, the disgust in his voice evident, looking confused. "Mrs. Bucket? You're guest has arrived!"

Jack awoke an hour later, wondering where he was. He was in a bed, under a very decrepit-looking ceiling. Jack panicked. What was he doing in a bed? Relief washed over him when he realized his clothes were still on. Sitting up and pulling back the covers, he found himself to be in a loft. Smelling the air, he could tell that something was being cooked. Shakily he made his way down the ladder and into the dining room. Mrs. Bucket was carving a delicious looking chicken, Mr. Bucket was reading a newspaper, and four very old looking people were lying in a bed to one side.

_This looks...somewhat normal..._ Jack thought. He cleared his throat.

"Jackie! You're awake!" Mrs. Bucket looked over her shoulder, smiling. Jack suppressed a shudder. _Better get things straight right away; no sense in wasting time about it. _

"Um, I prefer 'Jack', if you don't mind. And, if it's not too much trouble, if you could refer to me as your 'nephew' and not your 'niece'." _Please let that be the end of it..._

At this Mr. Bucket's newspaper fell just enough so that he could look Jack up and down. Mrs. Bucket's face fell, looking confused. But as soon as it showed, it was gone, replaced by a sympathetic smile.

"Well all right, I suppose if you want. Are you feeling any better?"

"Oh yes. Except, I'm not exactly sure what happened. I remember arriving in town, looking for the house...and then...well you wouldn't believe me if I told you..."

"I think we would, Jack." Mr. Bucket said behind his newspaper.

"Yes, you got rather over excited when you came here," said Mrs. Bucket.

Jack looked confused for a moment, but something moving outside the window caught his attention. "Oh no..."

Suddenly the door burst open, and in strode Charlie Bucket, followed by a cheerful looking Mr. Wonka.

"Cousin Jackie!" Charlie exclaimed, running over to him and wrapping his arms around his waist. Jack drew in his breath sharply, lifting his head and looking away.

"Oh, dear, I think he prefers 'Jack,'" Mrs. Bucket said, setting the chicken platter on the table.

Once Charlie realized that cousin 'Jack' wasn't returning the hug, he relaxed his grip and backed away, looking into Jack's face for an answer. "Is something wrong then? Are you not happy to see me?"

"Oh, Charlie, of course I'm happy to see you." Jack knelt down, gazing at his cousin and remarking how adorable he looked. "I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed, is all. No one told me you lived in a...in a chocolate factory."

"And just what is so overwhelming about living in a chocolate factory?" Willy Wonka said, sitting down at the table and waiting to pass his plate to Mrs. Bucket to fill. He sounded almost insulted.

It took a moment for Jack to gain enough composure in his voice to respond. Standing up, Jack debated on whether or not to tell Mr. Wonka the real reason behind his nervousness. Finally, he spoke a half truth:

"There is nothing particularly overwhelming for most people about a chocolate factory; it is only because I have a very strong interest in the making of chocolate and candy products that I was...a bit struck to find myself in the Eden of Chocolatiering." Jack prayed that Mr. Wonka would like this answer; his stomach was sending him warning signals still from being so close to his personal god.

Mr. Wonka made a face, remembering how the product of Jack's 'interest' had narrowly missed splattering his tailored plum coat. "I see. You wouldn't happen to be so interested in production that you'd sell my secrets to outsiders?" he leveled Jack with a stare that could melt steel, and he felt his legs growing weak.

"Oh no sir. I would never even think of--"

"Good!" Mr. Wonka beamed, his mood instantly lightening.

"Jack, why don't you have a seat, we're ready to start eating." Mrs. Bucket said.

They ate slowly, the members of the Bucket family discussing everyday matters; Mr. Bucket shared his day with the rest about his job at the toothpaste plant. Jack was quiet, feeling a bit like an outsider intruding on so personal an evening.

"So Jack, how did you end up back at Aunt Josephine's?" Charlie asked, noticing his cousin's silence and wanting, good naturedly, to bring him into the discussion.

Jack blushed. "I, um, got expelled from University."

"My goodness! Whatever for?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

"I burned down my dormitory building." Jack hung his head, looking at his plate. There was a nervous silence around the table, each person wondering what exactly they'd gotten themselves into by letting Jack stay with them.

Jack realized how awkward his phrasing had been, and blushed even deeper. "Not that I meant to! You see, I had been trying to make a certain type of candy that required very hot temperatures to make–it didn't really work, unfortunately–but while I was cleaning up I forgot to turn off a burner, and I woke up and the whole building was in flames! I really try not to do these things, and usually it doesn't matter if I do make a slip, but I was already stressed from the danger of failing my courses that I just forgot to..." Jack was rambling, desperate to defend himself against his own growing list of failures. He was unaware that a pair of violet eyes had glanced his way for one brief, scrutinizing moment. They took in all they needed to see, and then returned to the plate before them.

"It's alright Jack, we understand. Life is frustrating sometimes, isn't it dear?"

"It certainly is, darling. We probably understand your position better than you think." Mr. Bucket said.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Cousin Jack, are you going to get a job outside the factory?" Charlie asked.

"I will have to, Charlie, I don't intend to live forever off of your parent's generosity and that of...of Mr. Wonka." A shiver ran up Jack's spine. It felt so strange to be sharing a table with this figure of legend, to address him by his last name seemed even to familiar. Jack wished the English language had a more varied system of honorifics, perhaps the use of 'sire' or 'lord' would make him feel less rude and presumptuous. Jack smiled inwardly. At least the Buckets weren't asking him to get married. Then his face fell. He would have to work some low end job, no doubt; completely unrelated to the production of confectionary—was his dream completely hopeless, a fool's gold?

His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Bucket beginning to clean off the table. Jack jumped up and started carrying dishes to the sink, trying to show his appreciation for their acceptance. He managed to clear off the whole table with Mrs. Bucket hardly having to do a thing, and earned a smile from her.

"If I remember correctly, I think Mr. Wonka has arranged for private sleeping quarters for you. We would have you with us, but as you can see, we hardly have room inside the house as it is." Mrs. Bucket said.

Another flip of the stomach. Jack looked towards Mr. Wonka, who was waiting by the door for him. _Please don't throw up, please don't throw up, dear god please don't throw up..._Jack chanted to himself.

"Well come on little man, I've got to show you your room right away! I've got work to do." Mr. Wonka said, gesturing towards the door impatiently.

"Oh. Yes sir."

Once outside, Mr. Wonka turned around and squarely faced Jack. "You're not going to be throwing up anymore, are you?"

"Oh, uh, no sir. Not at all. I'm terribly sorry about that." Jack looked mortified, his face burning.

"Splendid. Now I must ask you that while you're staying here, you look over the list of rules. If you break them, I may have to have you thrown out; can't have distractions in this place. I'm very busy, you see, so most of your needs will be met from the oompa loompas. Please treat them with respect; they're my friends as well as employees." As Wonka spoke, they came to a door in the chocolate room. Fiddling with an enormous ring of keys, he tried several before finding the right one. Opening the door and walking down a corridor, he continued:

"I don't let anyone into my factory; I fired all my workers long ago. The only people who work for me now are the Oompa Loompas, and they live here. So do Charlie and his...his..." Mr. Wonka paused on the word, trying to fight his revulsion at feeling it on his tongue.

"Family, sir?" Jack said.

"Yeah, that. They live here, because Charlie is my apprentice. The only reason you're here is because Charlie asked me personally. However, this brings me to a very big problem. I absolutely cannot let you leave the factory. I'm a genius, my ideas are very valuable, and I can't take a chance with any of my secrets slipping out. But my oompa loompas have completely filled all my openings for jobs, so I have nothing right now for you to do, and I can't have you simply living here for free." Mr. Wonka paused at a particular door, unlocking it.

"So I very much regret that you shall simply have to wait and see if I can find you a job here. I'm sure I'll think of something; I'm quite brilliant you know, haha, but until then, just keep out of my sight and I will think of something much faster." Mr. Wonka ended that last line with a note of malice, barely detectable under his mask of cheerful busyness. He closed the door behind Jack briskly, without any parting words.

Jack looked at his new room. The luxury of it startled him; it was very much unlike anything he was used to. The carpet and ceiling were slightly grey, the most soothing shade of cool grey he'd ever seen. The walls were a muted blue color, somewhere between slate blue and periwinkle. All the furniture was framed in wrought iron; the bed was a box frame with gauzy, translucent curtains wrapped around the canopy; there was a glass topped table and couch, a secretary in the same style, and very stylish looking lamps in a few corners. It was a curious mix of soft, calming colors and the harsh, tortured look of wielded metal. There was a bathroom as well, outfitted with luxurious scents to wash yourself with. Jack opened the closet. It was empty; of course. Jack unpacked his few clothes and hung them up. Having done that, he undressed and landed face first into the bed. His unruly, wispy hair splayed over the silk pillows, he lay nude on his stomach and looked to the side.

Jack was exhausted, his emotions taxingly complex. He'd heard about Mr. Wonka firing all of his employees; he had a few articles about it pasted in his diary. Jack colored. What if Mr. Wonka somehow ever found out about his diary? Jack would have thrown himself from the highest smoke-stack! Mr. Wonka could never find out; god forbid Jack ever seemed more weird and obsessive than he already let on.

And there was the matter of Charlie somehow becoming Mr. Wonka's apprentice. When had that happened? There was a time where Jack had thrown himself completely into his confectionary studies; there was no time for television or newspapers; he probably had missed out on a lot of things happening in the world. This had come as a complete surprise. It was strange; Jack had always secretly fantasized about being Mr. Wonka's apprentice, and now that his closest living relative had become so, he felt somehow...cheated. Charlie was a wonderful boy; Jack found that he had taken an instant liking to him in his own subtle way, but of all the people to have it happen to in his family, why did it have to be Charlie? Had he ever shown an interest in making confectionary before this? Somehow, Jack doubted there were few people as devoted to chocolate as he was, besides Mr. Wonka himself.

Jack bit his lip. He wouldn't be able to leave this factory. He would be living in the shadow of Mr. Willy Wonka himself, the very reason Jack did not succumb to depression and suicidal tendencies fostered by his poor social skills and his repeated failures–Mr. Wonka was his reason for living, if there was ever a chance that he could manifest his dreams as he had done. So why did he feel so sad right now?

Jack knew he had made a horrible first impression. He knew very little about Mr. Wonka's personality, as secretive as he was about everything he did inside the factory. Jack had expected a rational man, but with a love for making delicious things, who had worked hard to bring happiness to the world through his chocolate. Instead he'd found madness; those impossible things he'd seen in the Chocolate Room, the room itself had to real purpose, not that he could see. The man was childish at times, brutally sarcastic and impolite at others, and seemed to be as agoraphobic and untouchable as Jack was at certain moments. He was egotistical, impatient, and his behavior seemed almost infantile. Jack could tell in his explanation of how his factory worked that he absolutely detested having one on one conversations with other people, and wanted to get introductions out of the way as fast as possible so he could get back to being alone with his factory. Jack felt let down; as if part of his life had been in vain. The question of whether or not he should simply give up his dreams and settle for whatever came his way nagged at him now more than ever.

It was with these thoughts roiling in Jack's brain that he slowly drifted off into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello again! I've made it to chapter three, my goodness. I was surprised that in the short time I have had this story up, I have already received a review, and a lovely one at that, from R. Joy Helvie. Thanks for reviewing! It's true, some of Jack's personality traits (and fashion sense ) come from Tim Burton's and Mr. Depp's interpretation of Ichabod Crane, so if it helps you to imagine Crane in Jack's shoes, by all means, go ahead. Now that R. Joy Helvie has explained to me the differences between an OC and a Mary Sue, I can agree—I had no intention of making Jack a stereotypical Mary Sue, and only used that term for lack of a better word. _

_Now that that's out with, the usual disclaimers apply: Charlie and the Chocolate factory characters all belong to Tim Burton/Roald Dahl, the only person that's mine is Jack, and the character of Earnest. _

_Chapter 4 soon to come. _

_I have been held in this orphanage for longer than my years._

_I am made to eat this horrid porridge._

_They box me on the ears._

_How often I vow to flee, to go._

_But this is the only home I know._

_My stammered speech, my one suitcase,_

_My Orphanage, My hateful place._

—"_My Orphanage" by Rasputina_

Jack woke the next morning to a little bell being rung. His confusion vanished when he looked at his surroundings and remembered all that happened. Pulling the sheets back, Jack put a long shirt on and opened the door of his room. There stood a very short man like he'd seen earlier, dressed in a shiny PVC outfit. His hair and skin were dark, and he had a somber expression. He was only about a foot tall.

"You're a...a...a funny little person." Jack mumbled, leaning against the door frame. To his surprise the little man giggled and handed Jack a manila envelope. Bowing, the man left the hallway. Jack wondered if he'd dreamt the entire thing, but the envelope felt very real in his hands. Sitting down on a couch, Jack opened the envelope and pulled out a long list of

**THE RULES**

1. Keep to your room and the rooms designated to your use only.

2. Under no circumstances touch the chocolate being produced in this factory. My chocolate must remain untouched by human hands.

3. Please cooperate with the Oompa Loompas.

4. Please treat the Oompa Loompas with respect.

5. If you need to hold an audience with me, DO NOT seek me out. Either speak to the Oompa Loompas about it, or if it is very pressing, ask Charlie.

Then followed 800 things NOT to do to the chocolate river, specifying which bodily fluids were aloud (read: none), etc. The very last rule on the list:

806: Follow these rules. Or else.

Pulling out the other item in the envelope, Jack saw that it was another, smaller envelope, in a light gold color. Opening it, he caught the sent of white chocolate, and he sat still for a moment, simply inhaling the fragrance, like a sweet message from a loved one. The paper inside was very soft, and unfolding it, Jack read:

_Dear Guest,_

_While I am busy trying to figure out a place for you in my factory, the Oompa Loompas will be seeing to your needs. I have asked them to take your measurements as to procure some suitable clothes. Please do whatever they require and all will go smoothly. During the day, you have access to the chocolate room and the library. Please do not go to any other locations in the factory. I cannot guarantee your safety if you do. _

_At precisely noon an Oompa Loompa will find you and escort you to wherever I will be at that moment, and we will have lunch. I will decide what to do with you from there._

_Cheers, _

_Willy Wonka_

Standing up, Jack put a vest over his shirt and tucked it into a pair of pants, pulling on the only pair of boots he had. He was about to go to the door when another bell rung. Opening the door, he saw a fleet of Oompa Loompas, all holding clip-boards, chalk, and measuring tapes.

"Come in...I suppose..." Jack said as they marched past him. One Oompa Loompa, sporting a different outfit than the rest, tugged on his pant-leg. Jack took from him a little note card:

_My name is Earnest. I have been instructed to oversee your activities and assist you with anything you need. Please ring for me if you need me._

"Thank you, Earnest." Jack said. Earnest crossed his arms over his chest briskly, and motioned for Jack to stand in the circle. At once the little men began measuring every inch of Jack's body, crawling up his legs and arms to reach particular places. Jack's heart beat wildly, and he had to keep from screaming and batting them away, like a man rolling on the ground to put out the fire eating at his clothes. But as soon as it started it was over, the troop of Oompa Loompas running out the door.

"Well, that was----" Jack's words were forgotten, noticing a silver tray upon the table. He lifted the lid and beheld a large breakfast of eggs, sausage, french toast, bacon, regular toast, jam, orange juice, milk, and tea. It was the best smelling food Jack had ever experienced, and forgetting everything else besides his hunger, he sat down and began eating. He took his time, wanting to savor everything, unaware that several pairs of small eyes were watching him and recording everything down from their hiding places.

All in all, it was two hours before Jack put down his knife and fork, daintily dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. As soon as he set that down, the bell rung once more. He'd hardly opened it when in stormed a brigade of Oompa Loompas, all carrying boxes of every size, shape and color. They piled it onto Jack's bed, making a mountain of it. Then stepped forward Earnest, looking expectantly at Jack.

Jack walked over from the open door and cautiously opened a long box that was at the top of the pile. Immediately he turned away, fighting the revulsion from making itself too entirely obvious. Within the box lay a beautiful, tailored and elaborate dress.

_Those sneaky bastards..._Jack wondered how he could right this situation without seeming rude. Motioning to Earnest, Jack bent down and whispered into his ear:

"_I think there's been a mistake..."_

Earnest put his hand over his mouth, his eyes going wide. He nodded, looking mortified, and began making hand signs to the other Oompa Loompas. Jack watched, embarrassed, as they all left, leaving the mountain of unwanted clothes behind. He turned and looked helplessly at the pile. Finally he looked through the pile, almost laughing at what they would have him wear. He sighed, holding a few articles of clothing at arms length and thinking.

_If ever I want to hide the fact that I really am a pervert, I suppose I can hide a secret with a secret. For special occasions or something. _

Jack hung up one select dress in the very back, a long with some long black skirts, two blouses and girl's shoes.

_Only if I'm desperate for something to wear. _Jack reminded himself.

Taking the rest of the boxes in his arms, precariously balancing them on each other so that he could barely see where he was going, Jack began making his way towards the Chocolate Room.

"Oh Jack, they're beautiful!" Mrs. Bucket exclaimed.

Jack smiled shyly, staring at his shoes. "They weren't exactly my style, and I thought you looked about my size. You can keep them if you like them."

"How is your room then?" Mrs. Bucket asked, folding the many dresses into a chest.

"Oh...it's lovely..." Jack said quietly. "I don't think Mr. Wonka likes me very much though."

Mrs. Bucket smiled in knowing agreement. "Don't worry about Mr. Wonka, Jack. He's just being his own strange self. It says something that he even let you come here. Give him a chance to get used to the idea of you being here, and he'll come round. You're still going to be eating supper with us, aren't you?"

"Um, yes, I didn't know if you wanted me to. I'm sure they'd be willing to give me my dinner in my room..." Of course Jack meant the Oompa Loompas, but he felt silly talking about them; they seemed so odd and out of place. Jack wasn't sure how comfortable he felt about eating every night at a table with Charlie's family. He'd spent so much time alone that his agoraphobia had gotten the best of him.

"Of course we want you to eat with us. Dinner's at seven." Mrs. Bucket said.

"Um, Mrs. Bucket..."

"Just call me 'Aunt Sarah', Jack, you're certainly still young enough to." Mrs. Bucket said.

"Yes, haha, Aunt Sarah, why are you doing all this for me? You certainly didn't have to take me in."

Mrs. Bucket looked at her nephew curiously. "Because that's what families do. They help each other. Genes and marriages define a family, but our actions towards each other are what make the title of 'relation' mean anything."

Jack was silent for a while, absorbing this. Before he could respond, Charlie came bursting through the door. "Cousin Jack!"

"Where did you come from, Charlie?" Jack asked.

"School, silly. I may be Mr. Wonka's apprentice, but I still have to finish school." He said, dumping his textbooks on the table. "I have to do some homework, but when I'm done I can take you around the chocolate room."

"Thank you, Charlie. I would like that very much." Jack said. "If you'll excuse me, Aunt Sarah, I'm going to wander around a bit." Jack exited the dilapidated house and headed back to his room. Upon opening the door he found another pile of boxes lying on his bed, and taking a look in one revealed the most sumptuous tailored men's clothes he'd ever laid eyes on. _Those Oompa Loompas sure know how to make one look good, _Jack thought as he examined himself in a new blue-black brocaded knee-length jacket.

After hanging up his new clothes, he took out his diary, reading over the articles he'd pasted to the blank white pages. Looking at the black and white printed pictures of the genius chocolatier, his bizarre sunglasses obscuring most of his face from view, Jack still couldn't believe that he was living in the shadow of this great man. He had expressed his adoration on the following pages; the ink drawings of his idol and the notes of speculation on the workings of his chocolate filling the pages in spidery script.

Jack sighed. With all of his equipment gone, what use was there in continuing in his diary, he could not test his theories or record anything of any value down. What would Mr. Wonka find for him to do?

Frowning, Jack snapped the book closed and, grabbing his stylus and his goggles, he made his way back to the Chocolate room. Unfortunate circumstances wouldn't keep him from practicing what he lived for.

_Please review, I need your opinions and criticism! This story was free after all, the least one can do is tell me what I should do with it. _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N Sorry it's so short! I'm actually busy because I'm making some illustrations to go with this story. I'll get the links to them as soon as they're up. Thank you to all who reviewed, they meant a lot to me. _

_Disclaimer: Nothing, save Jack and Earnest, belongs to me. I am not making any money off of this, so it would be useless to sue me. _

Jack had wandered across bridges and through meadows, trudged through swamps and climbed over hills----the Chocolate Room was the size of a small country, and yet fit into the factory somehow. Finally he found a comfortable spot in a dense forest, the ground covered in what looked to be spores and mushrooms, but Jack knew by now that they had to be some form of candy. It was like being in a weird, darker Wonderland, only...made up entirely of sweets. Part of Jack found it disturbing; all through school he'd been schooled on the principles of logic, and nothing here made sense. He knew very well there was absolutely no conceivable way to make most of this stuff, and yet there it was, right before him. Another part of Jack, a very small, neglected and forgotten part of him, rejoiced in the fantasism of it all. So many of his most brilliant ideas had resembled what he found growing in the Chocolate Room, growing up he'd written them down in his diary and tried desperately to create them in his kitchen, but it was simply impossible. Rather than being jealous of Mr. Wonka and his success, Jack felt the greatest exhileration he'd ever felt. This was all, somehow, possible! And the fact that it had been made by a forty-year old man (who did not look a day over twenty) delighted him even more. Jack felt great promise in a man who could actually make great candy wildernesses for the simple purpose of enjoying it's beauty—well, a man like that you do not find just anywhere.

Jack twirled a florescent gummi mushroom between his gloved fingers, reclining on the mossy ground and gazing up through his giant black goggles at the giant chocolate redwoods. What was the secret to Mr. Wonka's youth? Was it something that he ate, or in the air he breathed? Did he simply intend to cheat death by moisturizing his skin obsessively? Jack had known Aunt Josephine to do this, buying lotion compulsively, rubbing it into her skin if ever there were an idle moment. If Mr. Wonka was using this technique, it sure worked better for him than it ever did for Aunt Josephine.

Sitting up, Jack recorded his musings into his diary, which was rapidly filling up—he would have to glue in more pages soon. Putting the question mark after the word 'moisturizer', Jack then drew a detailed diagram of the mushroom, noting its location and what he could guess was its composition. He'd already recorded down many things that he'd found particularly interesting—such as the fact that these chocolate redwoods actually _grew_, after breaking off a branch he'd discovered rings marking the inside of the wood. Jack had spent hours contemplating that alone.

Jack, for a moment, imagined _he _was Mr. Wonka's apprentice. What sort of magic would Mr. Wonka teach him? How could he learn to do the amazing things that he did, how could he share his love for everything sweet tasting and fantastical, how could he express it, to his idol? Jack imagined Mr. Wonka and himself living alone in the factory together, the Oompa Loompas providing them with everything they needed as well as entertainment, while together they invented and plotted and scribbled and argued and created and laughed maniacally at each other's genius. Living in this fantasy, Jack's heart soared, their passion for their art lifting them up and up into the realm of creative ecstacy.

His fantasy was short lived, however, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Opening one eye, Jack beheld Earnest.

"Lunchtime?"

Earnest nodded, and led Jack through the trees. Jack wondered how late they would be if they had to trudge back through all that land to make it to wherever Mr. Wonka was at that moment. However he was amazed again to see Earnest open a door in a tree, and they both walked through to the other side—which happened to be a familiar hallway. Together they navigated through the factory; it didn't take long before Earnest paused before a large door with a giant golden "W" on it.

"Do you have an appointment?" The familiar voice of Mr. Wonka spoke from inside.

"Um...you wanted to eat lunch with me?" Jack said, a wave of nervousness snaking through him. _Do NOT throw up. I mean it this time, Jack, you will NOT vomit on the shoes of your god. _

"Lunch? When did I say anything about lunch?" Earnest sighed, rolling his eyes and pushing the door open, motioning Jack to follow. They entered a large, luxurious office. Before them was a huge, high-backed chair, facing the window behind the desk so that they could only hear Mr. Wonka's voice from behind it.

"Didn't I say not to wander about? I hate distractions, especially ones who can talk back. I am a busy man, and I don't have time to deal with every little thing that pulls me away from making this factory run." Jack was terrified at the tone of Mr. Wonka's voice; it was very serious and sounded rather displeased. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something shiny floating in the air, and before he could identify it, Earnest walked over to the chair, and, reaching on his tiptoes, whispered something.

The chair whirled around, nearly knocking poor Earnest on his back, and Jack beheld the image of Willy Wonka, dressed in his plum-colored coat and top-hat, with a large pair of glasses over his eyes. They weren't his usual sun-glasses, they were giant googley-eyed glasses that Jack doubted he could see through. In his hand he held an enormous pot of liquid soap, and in the other he held a very complex bubble-wand. It was trailing bubbles everywhere, and Jack saw that Mr. Wonka was surrounded by a cloud of oddly-shaped soap bubbles.

"Do you like chicken or pasta?" Mr. Wonka said in a completely matter-of-fact tone, completely disregarding his earlier denial of a lunch-date or, for that matter, his absolutely ridiculous state.

Jack couldn't speak. He knew that if he did, his face would explode with the sheer force of the laughter he was trying to suppress.

"Well?" Mr. Wonka's googley eyes bobbled crazily in their lenses. Jack bit the inside of his cheek _hard_.

"You really should speak up young man, I can't hear a word you're saying." Wonka leaned forward, putting a hand to his ear; his two googley eyes staring in different directions.

"Pasta." Jack said, a tear slipping down his cheek, the effort of trying to contain himself.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Mumbler. Try again."

"PASTA!" Jack almost screamed.

"Well, there's no reason to shout, I can hear you perfectly fine from here. Earnest, would you be so kind as to bring in our lunch?"

_Oh god, I can't do this. If I laugh I'll die of embarrassment. I'll be fine if he would just take off those glasses. _It was Jack's misfourtune then, when Wonka did not take off his glasses. He simply sat at his desk, waving his wand idly and popping bubbles absent-mindedly with his gloved fingers.

"So, Jack, are you comfortable here in my factory?"

"Oh, y-yes sir. Very much; this was so much more than I ever expected."

"My Chocolate Room is much larger than you expected, I take it?"

"I didn't even know about the Buckets living with you, Sir. But it is extroardinary."

"Extroardinary enough for you to slink through it and steal my secrets?"

Jack choked on his pasta. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me!" Wonka stood up, tearing off his glasses and looking straight into Jack's eyes. Jack felt his heart squeeze, and his lungs seize up. "I know you were writing everything down in that book of yours! You're gonna leave and steal all my secrets for yourself!"

"Oh...god..." Jack couldn't believe it, what Mr. Wonka was accusing him of, it was so much different than his dreams earlier that afternoon. He was sweating, and began coughing loudly, covering his face with his arm and looking away. He couldn't breath properly, and was starting to panic. Mr. Wonka watched, unsure of what to do, as Jack's coughing got worse and worse. Jack tried to stand up, to go to a corner of the room, but couldn't make it. His body starved for oxygen, Jack fell on his hands and knees and kept coughing, until finally he calmed down enough to stop. Mr. Wonka watched as Jack withdrew his hand from his mouth, coming away with blood spattering the palm. Wonka's eyes widened, but Jack quickly closed his hand and licked his lips free from any blood speckling them. He slowly stood up, swallowing once or twice,

"Mr. Wonka, I can hardly imagine the pain you suffered when your former employers began selling their secrets to competing brands, I will never be able to understand your mind or your genius, but understand me, you have been the only reason I have not...you're the greatest and only role model I have." Jack lowered his eyes, not able to stand the intensity of those violet eyes. "I could never leave this place for the outside world now. And I could never betray your trust after all you have done for me. If I do, I beg you to throw me in the incinerator, for that person would not be fit to live anymore."

Mr. Wonka seemed to process this for a while, when he asked, "So do you like cheese cake or apple pie?"

_Please review! _


	5. Chapter 5

_Waaah! Again, I'm sorry this is so short. You would not believe how busy this week has been, my hours at work are crazy, and school has started, etc, etc. I've suffered a bit of writer's block, so sorry, but in the mean time, I've been drawing! I spent a lot of time on this art, so the least you can do is go look at it . At these addresses are the illustrations to my story, with more to come:  
www (dot) deviantart (dot) com (slash) view (slash) 22413063 (slash) _

_HERE's a really BORING picture (in the works) of Jack:_  
_www (dot) deviantart (dot) com (slash) view (slash) 22450837(slash)_

_ Will really really really try to make updates longer and more regular. I want to make this story unique and interesting, so I've been trying to really get into it. It's hard though, because I don't have the movie. But as soon as I can I'm buying the DVD so I can study character nuances better. Oh dear, I'm sounding obsessive again, aren't I? I SWEAR I'm not, I'm really not..._

"Soooooo..." Mr. Wonka drawled, feeling slightly uncomfortable at Jack's silence across the table from him as he ate his lunch. "What's your favorite type of candy?"

"Oh, um..." Jack did not look up, talking into his plate. "Well, you see, I love candy, but I haven't tried any in so long that I really couldn't tell you. I like it all, I suppose."

Mr. Wonka arched an eyebrow. In all of his interviews with employees, he'd never gotten such a contradictory answer.

"That's kind of weird." He smiled falsely. "If you like candy so much, why haven't you eaten any?"

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Wonka, I have a small fear of growing sick of it. I can't imagine not liking candy in any of its aspects, and I don't want to ruin that."

"But...what's the point of making candy if you can't enjoy it? That's just silly!" Mr. Wonka asked, twirling his bubble wand before his face.

Jack stopped eating for a moment. This had never occurred to him. Jack had always rationalized that the only thing one needed to make good candy was a good recipe and the skill to do it. What was Wonka implying?

"I...don't really know how to answer that, Sir."

"Oh great candy-gods," Mr. Wonka groaned, "don't use that word. Just call me Willy or Willy Wonka or just Mr. Wonka."

"...alright..."

"You know, I've been thinking and thinking. I can't have freeloaders like you sittin' around dilly and dallying all day. You'd think that with a factory as big and splendiferous as mine, I'd need all the help I could get, but that's just not true! I'm a genius you know, and you're the only one here who's not doing anything to help. I can't stand idle people! You should be ashamed of yourself." Mr. Wonka managed the most serious look he could give. Jack blushed.

"You want to make candy, do you? Well, I've already got an heir, so forget it!" Jack wanted to sink miserably into his clothes at the very mention of that.

"But, well...you know, Charlie is still going to school, he's got p-parents, he's got other obligations, all that, right now. Who knows what he'll feel like ten years down the road? I barely get to spend time with him these days, he's so busy with his other responsibilities. Sure, he's got imagination, and a healthy appreciation for candy..." Mr. Wonka trailed off.

"In any case, I finally figured out what you can do to help around here."

_Be your personal slave?_ Jack thought hopefully.

"You can be my laboratory assistant!" Mr. Wonka smiled wide, showing off all 32 of his small perfect teeth.

Jack vomited into his plate in excitement.

"Ooo_kay_, **that** was kinda gross!"

Mr. Wonka had decided to let Jack have the afternoon off, in case he wasn't feeling well. In truth, Willy Wonka had been shocked to see that splatter of blood on Jack's glove, and that combined with his bouts of coughing/vomiting scared the chocolatier. It posed something of a sanitation risk, for one thing—there was no way Mr. Wonka was selling chocolate that had been bled, coughed, or vomited on. It was also a bit of a threat, unintentional as it was. Willy Wonka tried to keep his physical contact with other people down to a minimum, and being in constant fear of being vomited on was somewhat detrimental to his work ethic.

As Mr. Wonka thought about this, he thought about the reason behind his hiring Jack as a lab-assistant. Over the past few years, Charlie had made a very obedient and willing apprentice, but he was...distracted...by so many things. F-family. School. In a few more years, he'll want g...girl...girlfriends.

Wonka shuddered.

Jack could be a gift dropped right into his lap, an opportunity. Jack had no strong ties to the Buckets, not in any sort of familiar way. Mr. Wonka thought over what his oompa loompas (who secretly watched over Jack) had reported to him. The boy was aloof, sensitive, and given to bouts of introspective thinking. He kept peculiar habits, always putting on several layers of clothing, making sure everything save his face was covered. He internalized everything, writing it down later in that suspicious looking diary of his. He was, in essence, a lone figure who had nothing to lose right now. And he had a very strong fixation on chocolate and candy.

Guilt overcame Mr. Wonka. Charlie never said anything about not wanting to be a chocolateir. He couldn't just re-name his heir. That title belonged rightfully to Charlie. He couldn't take it away on a whim.

But Jack looked promising, he had to admit...

Willy Wonka looked down at the cauldron of melted milk-chocolate he'd been overseeing. It was on fire.

"Oh, fudgesickles!" He swore under his breath, turning off the heat and dousing the flames with water. It would be good to have an assistant, at least.

Jack lay on his bed, tracing the wrought iron canopy frame with his eyes. He didn't feel tired. Or sick. But he did need some time alone.

A laboratory assistant. Jack felt as if the butterflies in his stomach were doing complex aerial stunts. This had to be the most pivotal point in his life, ever. Nothing would be the same after this; how could things ever possibly go back to the way they were?

The factory was alive. Jack could feel it as he slept, tirelessly producing it's candy, endlessly running like a well-wound clock, industry was the word, ceaselessly bringing to fruitition the insane will of it's master:

Willy Wonka.

Jack was going to go to work for a madman, a Tom O'bedlam, a lunatic. All of his instincts recoiled except one, small neglected corner of his psyche that said, _yes, yes, at long last, we have found the one with all the answers. THIS is what making chocolate should be like. THIS is what we were born to do, THIS alone will bring us happiness, rejoice at long last._ At this moment, though, Jack did not even hear this small voice inside of him, it was drowned out by everything that told him that the only thing that ever came out of madness was madness.

As he lay on the bed, Jack listened to every voice of reason he had, patiently heard them out, noted every facet of why he should get out of here as fast as he could run. Eventually they quieted, having spent themselves with no more to say. Jack lay in silence for a very long time, until he quietly whispered to himself:

"Well, it's all very well and good to denounce insanity, but look where logic has gotten me so far. Maybe Mr. Wonka can teach me what needs doing after all."

Charlie later found Jack sitting on the riverbank of the chocolate river.

"How is it going, Jack?" Charlie asked.

Jack looked up, surprised. He had not heard Charlie approach. "I'm doing fine. Has Mr. Wonka told you yet?"

"Yeah." Charlie nodded. "You're going to be working with us from now on."

"How do you feel about that, Charlie?"

Charlie reflected for a moment, watching the chocolate foam and churn past them. "I'm actually really glad. It takes some of the pressure off of me to always be with him, helping him. I'd love to be there full time, but I've got school to worry about, and my family." Charlie sat down next to Jack. "I feel so bad sometimes, you know? Mr. Wonka really depends on me for a lot of things, but I feel like he's looking for something that I just can't seem to give him, and he doesn't even know that he's looking for anything."

Jack chewed on this for a while, and finally asked:

"Is Mr. Wonka very lonely?"

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "What makes you think he would be?"

"Well, I noticed, for example, that upon realizing his mortality, instead of seeking out a female companion and producing his own heir like most men would do, he creates an elaborate contest, picking children at random, and it seemed pretty lucky that he should find you."

Jack continued. "Now, men like that, they either are too socially inept, or simply too afraid of relationships that ask anything of them, to ever really seek out friends. Consequently though, they end up, in most cases, as very lonely people. That's all that makes me think so."

Charlie wondered at his cousin. He'd never heard someone rationalize and pick apart another person like that. No one ever really had said those things aloud about Mr. Wonka, even if they had thought about it. It had never occured to think of Mr. Wonka in that way, but now that it was layed out before him it _did_ make sense of a lot of things that Mr. Wonka did.

"Mr. Wonka is fine by himself, Jack. He's never lonely in an empty room. He's only ever lonely when there are other people living with him." Charlie said. "He's changed since we first moved in. He just...doesn't know how to feel comfortable around other people. But being with other people makes him realize how lonely he is when he is alone. I think it's good that you're here. You'll have plenty of time to spend with him, and he won't have to feel like he needs to compete for my attention. I'm glad mom and Mr. Wonka let you stay."

Jack looked at Charlie out of the corner of his eye. "Me too, Charlie."

_The Next morning:_

Jack lay in his nightshirt, asleep in his bed. It was a blessedly restful sleep, untroubling and calm, like a still pond. He lay back in the sheets, his hair thrown over the white pillows, his skin smooth and un-worried. He could stay like this forever...

...until something sharp jabbed him in the ribs.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head! It's time to get up!"

"AGH!" Jack bolted up in his bed, clutching the sheets to his chest, his blue eyes wide open and staring about the room crazily.

"Wowie! You're pretty peppy in the morning. But no time to dilly, or dally, we've got work to do!" Jack beheld Mr. Wonka. His smile flashed in the dim morning light. His violet eyes gleamed with inspiration and industry. His skin, ivory and smooth, looked twenty years younger than it should have. His hair was a deep burgundy color, bobbing around his chin under a bell-molded top-hat. He was fully dressed in his plum coat, vest, slacks, gloves and heeled boots. In one hand he held a glass cane filled with a rainbow of Nerd (tm) candy. The tip of it hovered inches away from Jack's ribs.

Jack's eye twitched. "You...you shouldn't be in my room this early...what...what time is it?" He was not concerned with formality at this point.

"Why, it's only five thirty a.m.! And what reason shouldn't I be in your room? It's my factory, isn't it?"

"...well, for one thing, I could sleep in the nude."

Mr. Wonka opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short. He suddenly looked uncomfortable standing there. But the moment passed, and instead he said, "No you don't, my oompa loompas would have told me!" He laughed mechanically.

"Well...Mr. Wonka...if you would at least wait outside to let me put something on, I can be with you in one second." Jack said, his heart beating crazily despite his calm voice. Mr. Wonka stood there, smiling cheerfully as if he'd not heard a word.

"Or I can simply undress before you and display my young nubile body under your discerning gaze." Jack said helpfully, and without a word Mr. Wonka spun on his heel and very rapidly left the room.

"Thought so."


	6. Chapter 6

_In response to my reviewers: _

_Vaughn: OO what other website was I mentioned on? I'm not too well known at all. I'd like the link? _

_KnuxZimRyoko15: Thank you so much for your kind review. Hopefully I'll get more as I go along?_

_JennaTripped: It's great that you like my story...but...if you didn't like the movie, why are you reading CatCF fics in the first place? Do you just like the book, or the original movie? _

_Lady Baelish: Thank you for your high praise! Tell me if there is anything I can do to improve characterization. _

_FireKidd: Uh...thank you for your praise, I'm not sure how to respond though. I generally don't know what to say when people ask me if I'm an artist, because I don't know what other people think it takes to be one. I'll say that I consider myself an artist, but a professional one? I'm only 17 here...and indeed, Jack can be a guy forever if he wants to be—believe me I have great ease in genderbending, I can make the situation turn out for the best no matter what. Have a little faith in me here, and keep an open mind—I promise you can close it back up afterwards if you really want to. _

_And to all my other reviewers: THANK YOU!_

_Please keep checking back to my gallery, already I've posted another Wonka artwerk, and a few things of Jack. I'm churning it out constantly. _

_While writing this I listened to the main titles of the soundtrack, and for the last part I listened to "Sweet Water Kill" Soft Kill R mix by Rasputina. I recommend them if you want to get better acquainted with the tone of my pieces. _

_Part of this chapter was inspired when just last night my parents managed to set a slice of beef on FIRE. I'm not kidding, and I don't mean in any way other than literally—the entire house smelled like burning flesh, it was so disgusting. But really...do you know how hard it is to actually set meat on fire? It's really hard, folks! And my parents weren't even trying!_

"Where's Charlie?" Jack asked, closing the door behind him and wringing his hands nervously.

"Oh he's at school. His pare...parennnn...uh..." Mr. Wonka looked hopefully at Jack.

"Parents, sir?"

"Yeah. Heh. Moms and Dads. They made him go, because, for some reason, they think it's important." he scoffed. "Well, that's perfectly fine. We'll just have to make to do by ourselves. Come along now, and don't touch anything."

Mr. Wonka kept a fast pace, walking briskly while Jack took long strides to keep up. "He'll join us when he's done with his homework in the afternoon. This way, this way. Do try to keep up." They turned sharply down another long hallway. They passed several doors, all looking completely alike, without any markings on them. Jack wondered how anyone remembered which door was which. He almost walked into Mr. Wonka's back when he stopped abruptly before a door, looking for all appearances like the rest.

"Here we are...now, let's see..." He pulled out a set of keys from his waist and inserted a key into the lock. Jiggling it a bit, the door opened. "Hmm, that's not it." Mr. Wonka frowned. Jack peered inside to see a broom closet cluttered with strange looking machinery parts. Closing the door and withdrawing the key, Mr. Wonka chose another key, inserting it into the lock and opening the door once more.

"That's no good..." Mr. Wonka said, closing the door before Jack could see what could have possibly changed about an old broom closet.

As Mr. Wonka tried several other keys on the large keyring, Jack thought of something he'd been meaning to ask him.

"Ah, Mr. Wonka, I noticed that there's a vibration in the factory. Pray tell, what does the factory run on? What form of energy?" Jack asked.

Mr. Wonka paused, holding a strange purple key in his hand. His eyes wide and his mouth cracking into a cheery grin, he looked directly at Jack. "Heh heh, why, the blood of unbaptized babies, of course!"

There was a deafening silence that stretched for a few moments, Jack's face frozen in the way it had been before Mr. Wonka had given his answer, his brain slowly coming to terms with the information it was processing. Finally Jack broke the silence with an unsteady "...what?"

Mr. Wonka's face fell, and he quickly busied himself with jiggling the key in the door's lock. "Oh, you know, the usual stuff, gas, electric, gasolectric, electroline, nuclear power, solar power, dandelions and sunflower oil, coal, fission, fusion, hydroelectric, you know I can't be bothered with these things, I've got more important things to be doing!" As Mr. Wonka swung the door open and ducked inside, Jack swore he heard a muffled snort and giggle.

"Bring me that extract, Jack. And for heaven's sake, would you PLEASE stop writing everything down?" Mr. Wonka glared at Jack, holding out his hand for the jar of sweet smelling extract.

"Coming sir. But, sir, if we don't record this down, how will we know how to fix any problems we come up with?" Jack dropped his pen and scanned his fingers over the row of jars lining the shelf of the "inventing room". In the background, machines ground tirelessly away at their functions, and Oompa Loompas ran about their duties.

"I don't want to hear anything about mistakes. I'm a successful chocolateir, nothing bad can happen here." Mr. Wonka's voice was unnaturally high pitched, like an adolescent boy. Jack had noticed Mr. Wonka's tendency to do this, and found it rather endearing, if somewhat bizarre.

_Who would have guessed the world's most talented chocolateir had a voice like a little bratling boy?_ Jack giggled secretly to himself.

"Now take this over, please. Make sure that it does NOT come to a boil, and do not stop stirring, what ever you do." Mr. Wonka motioned to a large vat of liquid milk chocolate. "You say you've done this sort of thing at your university? This should be simple then, for you."

Jack stood at the vat, feeling his heart thump wildly in his chest. Mr. Wonka pointed to the pestle, and Jack hesitantly took it, stirring the milk chocolate slowly.

Mr. Wonka nodded and went back to another table to check on his candy-coated pencil experiment. He had been thinking of Charlie when he'd invented this new type of candy. Charlie could gnaw through his pencils rather quickly when trying to figure something out, and this would be ever so much more pleasant than lead poisoning. However, his purpose was not to examine his experiments; he rather wanted to observe Jack at work. Willy Wonka's eyes flashed in the dark corner of the Inventing Room, watching the youth stir the vat.

Jack's hair fell about his face, the blond strands poofy and going about every which way, falling over his eyes and kissing the skin of his face around his mouth, which was colorless and a bit feminine. His eyes were hidden under those huge magnifying goggles of his, which were completely unlike the kind that Mr. Wonka wore. His goggles looked as if they'd been through a fire, the leather straps fraying in places, the metal frames blasted and the lenses containing multiple parts. They looked heavy, and in their condition it was a wonder he could see anything through them. Did they somehow augment Jack's vision? Mr. Wonka wondered if he would ever get a chance to try them on.

Jack's posture was impeccable, his back straight and curving slightly inwards, his tailored jacket hugging his body. Around his neck lay white lace bandages, Mr. Wonka made a note to get the reason why from Earnest. His hands were gloved in black leather gloves that looked like they left very little sensation in the fingers. His stance was...relaxed, yet tense at the same time. Willy Wonka frowned. How did that work? It was as if Jack was handling everything with such care for fear of breaking something, while at the same time drawing deep within himself, his thoughts a mystery behind those huge goggles and concealing clothes.

At the same time that Mr. Wonka was observing his new lab assistant, Jack was watching him. His goggles had a special feature which he'd built himself that allowed him to look to the sides and behind him while still facing forewards. All one had to do to activate it was rotate a small lever embedded in the side of the zoom lens, and a series of mirrors flipped in the desired direction to reflect your surroundings. At that moment, Jack gazed at his employer. His top hat and location in the darker part of the room obscured most of his face from view, but he could see the rest of him perfectly fine.

Mr. Wonka's figure was slim, and of average height. He stood still save for his hands, which fiddled with the laboratory equippment. Jack suddenly felt a bit hot, though he could not guess as to why. Mr. Wonka's burgundy coat clung to him at the shoulders but came down straight around his waist and hips, concealing the shape of his figure. It was still all so surreal; the purple gloves, the tapered and heeled boots, the bobbed hair, the face that was too perfect to be as old as it was. How could Jack possibly be here, when only a few days ago he was standing outside of his dorm in the snow, watching flames consume all he had left in the world?

Jack sighed happily. This couldn't possibly be a bad thing. He'd wanted this his whole life, and now that he was actually living side by side with his god, and...he was getting really hot. What the hell? Jack blushed. Getting hot while looking at Mr. Wonka wasn't appropriate.

"...Jack?"

_Oh my god, he's talking to me. What do I do?_

"Jack!"

_Don't be an idiot. _

_Look at him. He doesn't any older than you do! He's perfect...God, why can't I act normal around him? Just...talk to him, and don't vomit! Swallow it if you have to! _

_He's looking at me weird. I'm getting really really hot. I swear it's not like that. He's just...everything I want to be...one day...I'll be making the best chocolate on the market. I know it. _

"JACK!"

"Yes sir?"

"The chocolate is on fire."

Jack turned off the faucet to his bath, wiping his hair back from his face and unbuttoning his shirt. Dropping the shirt on the tile floor of the bathroom, he fingered the knot in his binding until it came undone. Unwrapping the binding and folding it on the edge of the sink, he then crossed his arms over his head and pulled the control-top stocking off, feeling his breasts bounce free of their restraint. He sighed. Being bound all the time hurt, and probably wasn't good for him. Unbuttoning his pants and slipping out of his briefs, Jack slowly got into the steaming tub, exhaling.

Sitting with his legs splayed out before him, shoulders hunched slightly, chin tilted up, there was silence for a few moments. Then a shudder wracked his body, small at first, then growing in intensity. Jack could never stop himself from feeling the full force of his emotions while without the armor of his clothes. Covering his face with his hands, Jack sank beneath the surface of the water. The water was so pure here that he could look up at the quivering shapes above the surface, and the sound of his heart in his ears calmed him, as did the water dissolving his tears. Extending a hand above the surface of the water, Jack snapped his fingers twice. Immediately the lights shut off, and Jack was plunged into darkness.

Jack had done this many times while going through high school—it got to be that it was the only way to calm down while not in the presence of others. He'd known people who smoked, or cut themselves, or wrote out their anxieties, but this was all Jack needed. Drifting in the warm darkness with only the sound of his blood pumping in his veins, Jack slowly felt all his tension melt away. It had been a horrible day...everything Mr. Wonka had put him to had either blown up, caught fire, or simply tasted terrible. Mr. Wonka had been optimistic at first, but Jack could tell he was getting quite fed up by the time supper rolled around. Jack chose to eat in his room, unable to tolerate company for much longer.

A wave of reassurance came over Jack. It would not seem so optimistic to others, but Jack took great comfort in knowing that, although he felt powerless in every aspect of his life, he _did_ have control over whether or not he decided to end his life himself. It would not be hard...and probably rather pleasant. Jack sometimes fantasized about simply lying on the bottom of a bath and opening his mouth and throat to allow water to flood his lungs, welcoming the beautiful release of all responsibility for a life too unbearable for a soul as weak as his to bear.

But not this time, it seemed as though it was not yet time to follow his personal mermaid down through the watery darkness. Jack arched his back, allowing himself to slowly rise, floating up to the surface, the pressure on his lungs receding in small increments. He was completely relaxed, a limp doll in the warm void, the only sensation besides the heat were bubbles of oxygen escaping from his hair, which floated about his face, an ocean of gold in the darkness. The bubbles trickled past his face, tickling him, until finally he broke the surface, taking in a deep breath that echoed in his still submerged ears. He lay like that for a few minutes more, simply breathing, returning to full alertness.

Standing up in the bath, Jack towelled himself off and, pulling on a night-shirt in case Mr. Wonka decided to wake him up again, fell into the soft clean sheets of his bed.

Earnest watched from his station as the pale woman lay in the bottom of the bath, her features eerily calm and serene, as if she were asleep beneath the surface of the water. She'd been under for three whole minutes now, and he was starting to get really worried. What if she was trying to commit suicide? That would not fare well with the Cocoa Lord.

Earnest had been learning all he could about this new stranger in the factory, but having so few possessions, it was very hard to know much. She kept a diary, but that was impossible to access–she carried around all day, and it was too risky to retreive it at night. It wasn't as if he was being nosy—the Cocoa Lord had asked him to keep tabs on the tall woman, and to notify him of anything he learned. Besides, the Oompa Loompas could not really feel embarassment at such close observation; what with their own relaxed social mores on nudity within the tribe, and the sheer bizarreness of this tall, fair-skinned human race, it mattered not what they saw of their masters.

However, now Earnest was getting a little antsy. It would be disastrous if he had to go in there and fish her out—she'd know she was being observed. But there was no way she was allowed to die. Not on her own time, at least.

Earnest breathed a sigh of reliefe as the woman floated to the surface, sighing and opening her eyes. Then he frowned. The master was unaware of their guest being a woman; Earnest had thus far complied with her wishes to be identified as a man. How would the master react if he found out that Earnest had been witholding information?

Earnest finished typing up his report. The master would simply have to find out on his own.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Yay, new chapter! My most sincere apologies for the long absence of updates; I promise I have NO intention of dropping this story. I can't believe how well this original character has been received! Still, while you're over here, if you like Tim Burton, I've got another fic on here for Edward Scissorhands, check it out if you can. Thank you to all the reveiwers who've helped me along the way, and a huge thank you to Semi-Sweet-and-nuts for the cameo in her awesome fic, Willy Nilly.

"Come in..." Jack said, sitting cross-legged upon his bed. He still wore his night shirt, though the clock upon the wall showed eleven o'clock. His hair had not yet been combed, and so stood up on end, gravity struggling to pull it down. He was writing furiously in his diary; revising notes and flipping through for reference. Two pale, spindly legs curled naked beneath him.

Earnest opened the door; he was by himself. He walked officiously, taking out a manila envelope and handing it to Jack.

"He certainly is fond of his envelopes..." Jack murmered, taking out the crisp note. Reading it quickly, Jack lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "He's asking me to lunch? Whatever for?" Looking to Earnest, Jack tucked the envelope in his diary and thanked him for the delivery.

"I'll certainly see Mr. Wonka for lunch."

Earnest bowed and exited. Jack supposed he'd have an escort to wherever Mr. Wonka decided to eat. Arranging his papers, Jack snapped his diary shut and crawled off the bed. Making his way towards the armoire, Jack wondered what Mr. Wonka had in mind. He had not been asked to join him in over a week, Jack had begun to think that the chocolatier had given up on him.

Wanting to look respectful and serious enough to conceal his inner excitement at seeing Mr. Wonka again, Jack selected the most muted shades of clothing, making sure there were no wrinkles anywhere. Just as he was buttoning the last button on his waistcoat, another knock sounded.

Jack paused. The timing of the oompa loompas was unnerving. "Come in."

* * *

They walked down a very narrow walkway, darkness obscuring much from view. Mr. Wonka marched determinedly before Jack, never pausing to look behind him to see if he was keeping up. Mr. Wonka's long legs covered longer distances, and if Jack wasn't paying attention he could very well lose sight of the chocolateir.

Suddenly the darkness drew away, and Jack gasped. They were on a railing, extending from one end of the enclosure to the other. Below them and above them, stretching for miles in all directions, were the guts of the factory. Jacks hair blew about his face as he gazed, eyes wide, at the dizzying vault below him. Pressurized steam hissed and screamed from valves in the gigantic pistons, which moved tirelessly, up and down, working the engines of production, forcing chocolate from one cylinder to the next. Bars of already formed chocolate were being sent down on ziplines to their next destination; about them mechanized engines of industry moved at breakneck speed, like silicone bones knitting together frantically. It formed a sort of music that Jack could hear, oiled parts working together in perfect unison, iron weight pounding on iron weight, steel bolts locking and unlocking, spindly robotic digits clicking lovingly over the aluminum-wrapped candy. Jack watched in captivation, his heart beat rising in excitement to see such an incredible display of efficiency and power.

Mr. Wonka watched Jack's face carefully. He had skipped over lunch, not wanting to waste time with food, to bring Jack here.

"Well? What do you think?" Mr. Wonka asked, his eyes gleaming from beneath the brim of his hat.

"It's incredible!" Jack shouted over the din of clanking metal, his light blonde hair flying about.

"Do you like it? I've got at least four other chambers like this; production never stops, you know." Mr. Wonka seemed to be waiting for something, some sort of admission, from Jack.

"I couldn't imagine anything more exhilarating! Did you engineer all of this?"

"What?" Mr. Wonka reflected for a moment, as if remembering something. "Oh yes, I did, not the individual parts, you understand, but how it all fits together, well..." Mr. Wonka smiled conspiratorially without his eyes, "that was my idea."

Mr. Wonka had other ideas, as well. When he was done showing Jack the tour of the assembly lines, they navigated to a place that he hadn't even shown Charlie yet. Getting there was quite a task; the elevator didn't have a button for this floor, so Jack found himself following Mr. Wonka through something that looked like an airport terminal within the factory. Zipping along the level escalators, flourescent lights stroboscopically shining over head, Jack saw numerous posters and advertisements for Mr. Wonka's candy, some obviously drafts of the final versions. After they finally got off the conveyors, Jack felt a little queasy, but Mr. Wonka did not slow down for a moment.

"This way, this way." He said impatiently.

_This is getting a little ridiculous..._ Jack thought as they crawled through what looked like luggage conveyors. He had only thought this when suddenly Jack felt himself tumbling down a shaft. He didn't have time to scream before he landed, face first, in a bin full of luggage.

"Ooooow..." Jack complained as he struggled to lift his head. He peeled a strap from his face, only to see Mr. Wonka sitting prettily in the cart in front of him.

"Okay back there?" He called.

"Just fine and dandy, thanks." Jack called back sarcastically. He realized that they were moving, and prayed silently that wherever they were going would be really amazing to justify this much trouble. The cart stopped after about a meter's distance, and Mr. Wonka jumped up onto a ladder bolted into the wall next to him.

"No time for dilly dallying!"

Jack seriously wondered what the negative effects of simply hurling himself off the ladder to the floor would be. He was exhausted from the journey, and the floor looked so comfortable at that moment. Before he could go through with it, however, Mr. Wonka above him stopped at a door in the wall.

"Here we are!" He said in a sing song voice. Jack momentarily considered the benefits of ingesting as much candy as it must take to make the chocolateir have so much energy. Opening the door, Mr. Wonka hopped from the ladder into the door way, motioning for Jack to follow him. Cautiously, Jack placed one foot after the other into the door way, which, when closed, blended in perfectly with the rest of the wall. Jack wondered at the need for placing a door some thirty feet above the floor, with no indication of where it led to or why it was there.

They walked further in, to find a vast jungle before them. Unlike the candy room, where everything was made of candy, this jungle was actually real, with real trees and foilage. Jack was about to ask why this was here, when something caught his peripheral vision.

"Oh bloody hell." Jack's jaw dropped. "You said there wasn't a button for this room!"

Mr. Wonka turned around, surprised. Jack's eyes were bulging, his mouth slack, his hands on his knees, his hair plastered to his forehead in exhaustion. Behind and to the right of him was a large, flamingo pink door with a sign above it saying, "GLASS ELEVATOR."

"Err...weeeelllll..." Mr. Wonka regarded it as one does a mule next to a lipizanner stallion. "It must have slipped my mind. Besides, I prefer this way. My favorite part is the whole tumbling down the shaft bit near the end! Those few seconds of free fall down the chute, and the fluffy suitcases, jut...wow!" Mr. Wonka exclaimed, his eyebrows lifting and his sparkling smile blinding Jack for a moment.

The jungle was very hot and humid, making Jack resent his choice of clothing that day. Still, he would be hard pressed to remove his waist coat in front of Willy Wonka.

It wouldn't be another twenty minutes before they reached a large tree, its roots dwarfing Mr. Wonka, the top of it dissapearing into the mists that formed the sky. Jack had to remind himself that, even though the jungle was natural, the place it grew in was still man made, and therefore enclosed on all sides by the factory. It sure looked like they were in the middle of South America.

Mr. Wonka turned around to look at Jack. Jack waited for him to say something, but all he received was a rather determined stare, and a very fake smile. This lasted several minutes, until Mr. Wonka beamed brightly and gestured about him. "Well, that's all I wanted to say, I hope you'll find the experience to your taste, and good luck!" He turned to go, but Jack panicked and, thinking Mr. Wonka would leave him there, which it certainly was apparent that he was, grabbed at the sleeve of his coat, shouting,

"Wait!"

Willy sharply inhaled, turning around and swiftly jerking his arm away. There was a moment between them, silent and awkward, where Jack gazed at his idol in a mixture of shock, hurt and confusion, and Mr. Wonka simply stared at Jack like a deer in the head lights.

Finally, Jack broke the silence. "You...you never actually said anything, Mr. Wonka, sir."

Mr. Wonka's expression didn't change, save for his eyes shifting from side to side nervously. "I didn't...?" After a moment, he tightened his fists and laughed nervously. "Hahaha, oh yes, that's right, I didn't, did I?" Willy murmered something under his breath about not being able to tell sometimes, but Jack didn't quite catch it. "How very silly of me!"

"Well. Yes, well, you see, that is, I've decided that I really can't help you at this point." Mr Wonka started out haltingly. _That's not what I mean at all! _He thought to himself. _This is so much worse sounding than it did in my head! Just tell it to him plainly, Willy, and you can end the matter._

"You dragged me out to this weird tree just to tell me that? Why didn't you just kick me out on the streets?" Jack felt his defenses fly up, desperately trying to protect his self-esteem from what he was sure would be a complete emotional attack on his person. In that moment, Jack felt all his dreams, not for the first time, seep away to leave nothing but empty disappointment. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. _I will _not_ cry like a little girl in front of this man! _Jack reminded himself sharply.

"Er, no, actually, I had more to tell you..." Willy found himself unsure as to how to handle the situation.

Jack braced himself for an onslaught of terrible crushing finality in regards to his future there, but instead he was surprised by Mr. Wonka's next words:

"We're not getting anywhere with having you actually try to prepare candy. So, I thought I would try something different. My guess is what you need is to become more familiar with the whole process of making candy; really appreciate where it comes from and how its made, just get more involved!" Willy gestured about him exasperatedly. "You're too distanced! And that makes for gross chocolate. So what I'm going to do is let you live among my oompa loompas for a while, and see how it's really done. I think you'll enjoy it after a while, after all, you'll be dealing very closely with many aspects of my factory. When you're done with all that, I'll decide where the best place would be for you to work. Sound like fun?"

Jack glanced up. In the branches of the trees were large pods. Faces peered out at him. He swallowed nervously, at once glad that he would get to stay within the factory, but at what cost? "How long would I be staying with them?"

"Hmm. Oh, I'd say about a few months or so. Nothing too long."

Jack sighed, but tried not to look too disappointed. Even though he would have given an arm and a leg to stay in the factory, he wasn't looking forward to long hours of manual labor in the jungle with an army task force of pygmies.

"Okay."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Salutations! Thank you everyone who has been so incredibly patient with me. I've just finished my last year of highschool at the nation's top community college, and with three five hour long art courses a week, it left little time to write. In addition, I have just moved with my family to a new house in the city, leaving the isolation and safety of the country behind for one of the most dangerous cities in the U.S., and it is indeed proving to be extremely dangerous to live here. Hopefully I'll finish this story before I'm shot and robbed of all the two dollars in my name!

Again, please R&R, your comments are always most helpful. I know there hasn't been too much Wonka lately, I truly am sorry about that. But, I have to write the story the way it's supposed to go!

"I thought I'd found a reason to live

Just like before when I was a child

Only to find dreams made of sand

Would just fall apart and slip through my hands

But the spirit of life keeps us strong

And the spirit of life is the will to carry on

Adversity what have I done to you

To cause this reclusive silence

That has come between me and you

And the spirit of life remains in light

And the spirit of life remains inside

I never thought it would be quite like this

Living outside of mutual bliss

But as long as the veins in our arm still stand up

The spirit of life will keep living on"

— Dead Can Dance

And so he left Jack there, with hardly a good-bye. Jack watched as the jungle swallowed him, the deep raspberry red of his coat slowly fading in to greenery as he walked away. This was certainly...unexpected. Jack was sweating profusely from the heat; once he had ascertained that Mr. Wonka was really gone, Jack doffed his waist coat and nervously unbuttoned his vest. He hung them both on a low lying branch, and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his face and neck. Jack stared up towards the canopy; his mass of hair felt sticky and wet against his skin.

"Am I supposed to climb, or what?" Jack asked to no one in particular. He still couldn't quite grasp the reality of his situation—those tree houses looked like bird's nests, was he actually supposed to live in one? And for just how long did he say? A few months, was it?

Suddenly a head popped up out of one of the houses–an oompa loompa, who else? He motioned to Jack, and pointed to the tree.

"What, no ladder?" Jack said incredulously. The oompa loompa simply laughed. Jack sighed in frustration. _I can do this. This whole thing is ridiculous, but if this is what it takes to stay with Mr. Wonka, I'll do it, no questions asked. At least, no questions asked aloud. _Jack bent down and untied his shoes, tying them together and slinging them around his neck. Removing his socks and discarding them, Jack wandered over to the tree in question. Putting a gloved hand to the trunk, he winced. There was no way he was going to get to the top without roughing up his clothes; might as well spare your gloves from being shredded, he thought. Removing his gloves and stuffing them in the back pocket of his trousers, Jack rolled up his sleeves and gripped the narrow trunk. _Oh please let there not be any ants on this thing..._

And so Jack climbed, slowly, and fell only twice. The going was rough; the bark was wet but it chafed the insides of his thighs and his arms. He was grateful when the trunk split, the first time he took the opportunity to roll up the hem of his trousers, which was unraveling quickly. The second time the trunk split, Jack nearly ripped off his shirt, so hot it had become. He was only just able to quickly unbutton it all the way, tying it about his waist and proceeding up the tree in only his undershirt, his binding still snugly in place.

By the time Jack reached the hut, his hands and feet were red and covered with wet moss and bits of bark. His clothes were stained with sweat and dirt, and his hair was an absolute mess. Jacks face was dirt-streaked and flushed, and he realized how very little exercise he got on a regular basis in comparison. He climbed through the large window, and realized that this hut was made large enough for him to stand up fully in. Sitting on the floor, Jack eyed the Oompa loompa, who was dressed only in a loin cloth. Suddenly, Jack felt very embarrassed about his size and ungainliness, sitting next to someone who probably thought nothing of climbing trees every day.

The oompa loompa, who's English name was Henrik, was indeed wondering if the boy before him was a hopeless case, but oompa loompas were not known to give up easily. The first thing, of course, was to teach this boy oompa loompa sign language. It would have to be an intensive course, as harvest season was just around the corner.

'My name is Henrik'. He signed to Jack. Jack looked dumbfounded, and then spoke, "I'm sorry, I am not from your country..."

The little man rolled his eyes, the boy wasn't going to get off easy—Henrik knew enough English to get by, but speaking it was saved only for the songs they improvised for the Cocoa Lord. The oompa loompa language was thankfully not a phonetic one, or else they'd be here all year. Instead, each gesture represented a word, or, as Henrik was trying to teach Jack now, a name.

The clan had already picked out a name for Jack—'pale insect,' due to his enormous goggles. Now Henrik was drawing a crude picture of Jack on a chalkboard that was set up next to the window. It was little more than a line drawing, arms and legs spread apart with a thin face and long hair and pouting mouth. Henrik pointed to it, and then pointed to Jack with his thumb extended. Then Henrik touched his palms to his face, and then made a fist, wiggling his thumb and pinky finger up and down: 'You, pale insect.' Comprehension dawned on Jack, and he pointed to himself with his thumb, and repeated the gesture. 'I, pale insect.' Henrik rose and eyebrow and looked pleased. Next, he drew a picture of himself, which to Jack looked like every other oompa loompa he'd ever seen, except this one had a loin cloth so he was pretty sure it was referring to Henrik himself.

Pointing to the picture, Henrik then smartly pointed his thumb at himself, and then opened his palm in a graceful gesture, and then closed his fingers around his thumb: 'I, word protector.' Which was indeed his tribal name, chosen for his skill at communicating concepts through his hands. The sign language of the oompa loompas was often very subliminal; he knew that Jack would begin picking it up and interpreting it in his own signing without needing a teacher to help him a long. Still, the basics were very important for what Jack would be doing later on.

They continued like this, for four days, from the time Jack was woken in the morning to the time that Jack would pass out, exhausted, in his cot. Jack was a fast learner, and Henrik could see that Jack was very happy with his own progress, seeing that finally he could be good at something. The heat was a little taxing on Jack, but his clothes were taken away to be washed often. On the third day of his stay there, his things arrived, and Jack thrilled to have a change of underwear, a clean undershirt (for that was all that was tolerable in that miserable heat) and his notebook back. In it, he would record diagrams of hand gestures, and what they represented. He learned basic things first, common verbs, adjectives, nouns, that sort of thing. He also learned the many ways of saying chocolate, in all of its forms. Throughout that week, the only people Jack saw was Henrik and a few female oompa loompas who came to take his laundry away.

Daily hygiene soon became a problem, though. Each morning, Jack was given a bowl full of rain water (yes, it did indeed rain within the factory) to wash his face in. There was soap, thankfully, but there was no way that Jack could bathe, or wash his hair. When Jack asked Henrik about this, at the end of the week, Henrik smiled and led him out of the hut for the first time. They traveled along a bridge till they came to an enormous tree, with an arch carved out over a platform, leading presumably inside the trunk. Together they went inside, to discover that the trunk had indeed been hollowed out, the top carved open to let in the light and to provide air. Torches lit the interior, and Jack saw before him a huge basin carved out in the wood, filled with rain water. Playing and bathing together in the reservoir were Oompa loompas of all ages and sexes.

'This way, members of each clan can remain close even if their daily work takes them away from each other.' Henrik said, and guided Jack to the edge of the basin. The other oompa loompas looked inquisitively at Jack, standing there in his undershirt and slacks. His heart pounded. There would be no way he could keep his gender a secret now; not without probably insulting the clan members deeply. Jack bit his lip, looking down at Henrik, who only looked back expectantly.

'You know about my secret, then?' Jack asked, a little impulsively. It was so much easier to pretend, but if this is how it was going to be, might as well make sure first...

'Oh yes. But no worries; it stays with the oompa loompas, it won't leave.' Henrik signed.

'And it doesn't repel you?' Jack asked.

'No.' Henrik signed simply. 'We cannot find any fault in it, so who are we to judge?'

Jack nodded, then, taking a deep breath, said aloud, "Okay." It would be good to feel clean again. A breath of relief seemed to escape from the clan, and once more they resumed chatting and playing amongst themselves. Jack felt the pressure come off him, and so did not feel quite so embarrassed when he removed his undershirt in front of a room full of people. Following the undershirt came the binding, which he unwrapped very carefully, wincing a bit as his breasts became unrestrained. Then came his trousers and underpants, and then into the water Jack went, careful not to step on anyone. This made the oompa loompas all laugh, and Jack looked confused.

'You just look so much bigger when you're surrounded by a bunch of us little people!' Henrik laughed. Jack laughed then, and let the cool water sooth his anxieties.

Suddenly Jack felt his hair being pulled on. "What–" He tried to turn around. Another oompa loompa signed to him, 'you're our guest, we want to make you feel welcome. The women have been wanting to do this forever anyways.'

Jack was able to see out of the corner of his eye two women cooing over fistfuls of tangled golden hair. A third woman came over with a huge basin, setting it down next to him. It smelled fragrant, and another male oompa loompa swam over to Jack, signing, 'most of the ingredients for shampoo are found in the jungle, you see. And those girls have never seen hair like yours!'

Jack turned around and signed to them, 'It's all right, you really don't need to wash my hair, I can do it myself.' The younger girls looked disappointed, but an elderly woman scoffed and turned Jack around by the shoulders. Cries of joy and excitement resumed.

As Jack's hair was being pulled at and scrubbed and combed through, four other women approached him, each carrying what looked to be rough pumice stones. Each took a hand or foot, and scrubbed at it till it was pink and soft. 'Don't scrub too hard, you'll wear away the callouses Pale Insect has worked so hard to get!' One man laughed.

'He can grow callouses plenty soon; let us enjoy such lily white hands and feet while we still can!' The women shot back. At first Jack felt uncomfortable with so many people touching him, but soon he grew used to it, even enjoyed it.

The women poured a tub of water down the back of Jack's head, washing away the home-made shampoo, and then handed him a cloth and pumice stone to wash himself with. Jack thanked them, and was quickly feeling refreshed and tingling. Once Jack had finished, a woman nervously approached him from the other end of the basin. In her arms was a small child. 'Will you kiss my child, Pale Insect? Your people have done so much to help us, you have truly been a blessing to the oompa loompas.'

Jack nervously took the tiny child from the woman's hands. The baby fit easily in the palm of his hand; no more a handful than a few cookies would have been. _You're supposed to kiss the baby, not eat it._ Gently, Jack kissed the top of the child's head, and carefully handed it back to the mother. The room broke out into applause, and Jack tried not to feel embarrassed.

After the communal bath, there was a meeting on one of the lower platforms, closer to the ground where it was cooler. Everyone sat on blankets. There were no towels, but Henrik came to him and gave Jack a beautiful floor length silk robe. 'The Cocoa Lord wore this to our banquet of honor to him; he left it here when he went back to the rest of the factory. We thought you'd like to wear it.' Jack took it reverently in his hands, gazing upon it in awe.

The robe itself was a work of art, like all of Mr. Wonka's clothes. Pale, ivory silk, perfumed to smell like white chocolate, Jack inhaled the scent greedily as he slipped the robe over his shoulders and that fell to his ankles. The fabric was embroidered with bold black thread, in busy swirling Turkish patterns that extended past the silk hem of the sleeve and came to drape over Jack's pale hands like a beautiful ornate net. The sash was thick and covered all of Jack's waist, and the ends hung down to his knees, decorated with the same thick black design. In one of the deep front pockets, Jack found a length of delicate gauze. Henrik motioned to wrap his hair up in it, as Mr. Wonka once did. Jack carefully bound his hair up, securing it with a pin made of opal that he had found in the gauze.

Jack realized that many Oompa loompas were staring at him. 'What is it?' He signed to the group.

After a moment, one of the oompa loompas replied, 'Pale Insect is so beautiful; you remind us all of how he looked the first night he dined with us in our new home, so many years ago.' Another said, 'you look like a god'. Another signed, 'you look so much like he did!'

Jack felt at once incredibly flattered, that a seventeen year old boy could ever compare to Mr. Wonka. Jack also felt, once more, very singled out. After all, he was this tall, slender, white person, sitting like royalty amongst all these tiny, stocky little brown people. The oompa loompas didn't seem to single him out after this, and engaged him in conversation while a banquet was set at their feet.

All around them, birds called, and insects chirped; Jack marveled at how completely Mr. Wonka had recreated the forest. Jack slapped at a mosquito that bit his arm. The food was excellent; no green caterpillars to be seen. They ate fruits and vegetables mostly, with small amounts of meat to go along. Jack sipped the mango juice and watched the oompa loompas dance and play their instruments.

'We're very glad to have you here with us, Pale Insect.' Henrik signed, sitting to Jack's right.

'And I am very honored to be your guest.' Jack signed back.

'The elders have hoped that perhaps your being here may one day convince The Cocoa Lord to visit us here in our homes. Henrik signed. We know he is very busy, but we feel it is our duty to take him away from his work sometimes, and remind him of what he means to us as our benefactors.'

'I am certain that Mr. Wonka is very grateful for what you have done for him. Perhaps he may come here one day, and we can both celebrate the fruits that our friendship has beared.'

It was hard not to feel optimistic, that night. Jack reveled in the feel of the silk robe against his drying skin, knowing that it had once fit so intimately around Willy Wonka's body. Jack felt very serene, somehow this idea had turned for the better, and now for the first time he felt as if he was among people who understood him and whom he could call friends. Walking back to his hut, Jack felt as if nothing could take this night away from him, and he was more relaxed than he'd ever felt before.

Debating on whether or not to sleep in the robe, Jack decided to simply sleep in the nude, as he did not want to sweat on it during the night, or wrinkle the silk. Jack unpinned his hair and tucked the gauze into the robe's pocket, hanging it from one of the branches that ran through the center of the hut. Climbing into his cot, Jack took out his diary and stylus and began drawing Willy Wonka as he must have appeared that night, regal and exotic in his oriental silk. Jack couldn't help but add a tiny little heart on the page next to Willy's head. _I think I'm actually falling for you, this time. You'll never know it, though..._ Jack wrote on the page in his loose, spidery script, and then, shutting the book and laying it on the floor, fell back into his pillow. _That's a secret between the robe and I. _


End file.
